


Interlude III: a hesitant question mark added behind “Q. Coldwater” in the appointment calendar

by Butterfly



Series: Scenes from a Resurrection Story [15]
Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 13:29:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18757384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butterfly/pseuds/Butterfly
Summary: Quentin lets his therapist know about a change in his plans.





	Interlude III: a hesitant question mark added behind “Q. Coldwater” in the appointment calendar

**Author's Note:**

> Content warnings for: talking about a character who is a pedophile and rapist; explicit discussion of depression and suicide. Erred on the side of caution with the rating, due to mature themes.

Quentin dropped his bag on the couch and then sat on the floor in a crumpled mess. Roxann studied him a moment, then joined him, tucking her legs under herself sideways.

“Um. I might miss next week. Or the next few weeks,” Quentin said this in a low, confiding tone. “I have-um. How much have I told you about the Fillory books? Not the real place, but the books.”

“Not much,” Roxann said. In deference to his oddly secretive manner, she didn't open her notebook. “I looked them up when your friends told me Fillory was a real place and you would probably end up talking about it when they brought you here.” _If_ , was the word Ms. Hanson had used, not _when_ , but she'd looked like she'd hated herself for it. “I haven't read them myself, but I skimmed the Wiki article.”

Quentin looked distraught for a moment. “The- the _Wiki_ _article_?” But then he shook his head and refocused. “Right. Anyway, the- the author of the books. Christopher Plover-” he tilted his head questioningly and she nodded acknowledgement. “-he- uh. He's a pedophile. He raped Martin Chatwin – the real Martin Chatwin – while he was writing the books. He would- uh. Plover's sister was a piece of work too but- she's dead, so that doesn't- um. He's not. He's in Fillory. I have to go help figure out a way to kill him.”

“He has some form of magical protection, I assume,” Roxann said. “Or he would be dead already.”

“Yeah, it's-” Quentin sighed. “But I'm not- not here to talk about our plan. Margo said- and El, El agreed. That it was still important. For me to come here and talk to you. I just- I guess this is one place where I can- I can...”

She waited.

“Those books saved my life when I was younger,” Quentin said, playing with the hem of his coat, which he hadn't taken off yet. “He's a piece of shit. I want him dead. But those books saved my fucking life. I would have- have killed myself years ago if they didn't exist. And I don't- I don't really know what to do with those feelings. Because- because I keep trying to tell myself that this is what growing up means. That the things that matter most end up disappointing you in the worst ways. And being a grown-up means getting used to that and not letting it hurt so much anymore. But when I- I told myself that before and I- and I did end up killing myself. If I don't have- if I don't have some _ounce_ of fucking hope, what am I staying alive for?”

Roxann leaned against the couch, listened.

“I break- I break everything.” Quentin placed his hand over his heart, tapped his chest a handful of times as he spoke. “My- my- even when I try not to, even when- and when I don't break it, it breaks anyway, because- because that's just how life is. It's a fucking disappointing, broken mess. And I thought- god, you know? If I could just fix _one thing_. Just one thing. But I fucked that up, too. And now that I'm back, I'm still- I'm- my stupid, bullshit brain is still broken and I can't- I have to do this. I have to go to Fillory. I have to help fix this. I have to. They- they need me.”

“Your friends would understand if you still needed time to heal,” Roxann said, quietly. His gaze jerked up to the side of her face, and then away again. “We've talked about that already. You know that it's true. So, the person putting all this pressure on you is yourself, isn't it?”

Quentin's mouth trembled.

“Quentin, you mentioned in our first session that your discipline is Minor Mending. Fixing things that get broken.” She tried to pick her words carefully. “But it doesn't seem as though that gives you any comfort. Can you talk about why that is?”

“It's- it's-” He crumpled in on himself. “Um. It's how I died. I- uh. I used a mending in the mirror world. And I- I told myself I didn't have a choice. And I told myself that I had to wait and make sure that it worked. And I- and I- but. I _did_ have a choice. _So what_ if Everett had become a fucking god? We've- I've killed gods before. But it- I don't think- I was just... I was tired of- of everything good turning to shit.”

“Do you still feel that way now?” she asked.

“Not as often,” he said, a tiny lilt of amusement mixed into the despair. “I guess- um. I guess I'm afraid. That if I go to Fillory and I make things worse. That I won't- that my brain will break again. I don't want to- I don't want it to. I don't want to- to feel like things would be easier if I just stopped.”

“Not wanting to is a good start,” she said. “Okay. It sounds like you're determined to go, so let's talk about some tools and strategies that you can use while you're there. And, when you get back, we can talk about which ones worked best for you.”

 


End file.
